


The Moments Between

by paperpenpal



Series: Snow Lions [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, No Beta, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Time Skip, post azure moon, spoilers? potentially
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 18:30:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20746781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperpenpal/pseuds/paperpenpal
Summary: Ingrid, after the war, and the moments she has with the some of the men in her life.





	The Moments Between

A week after the war ends, after they bury the dead and crown Dimitri king, there's no more excuses. Ingrid has to go home.

They all do.

His Majesty offers everyone a place in Fhirdiad, citing the Kingdom's need for people they can trust in order to pave the way forward. Dimitri, in private, with a low soft melancholy voice, admits to her that he just wants them all to stay together.

Ashe and Dedue are the only ones that stay.

It doesn't surprise her. Mercedes' calling was always to the Goddess and the people, and in the aftermath of a long blood-filled war, there was no universe in which Mercedes' does not seek to heal it with her own two hands. Annette, while still in Fhirdiad, has finally, after so many years, convinced Gilbert to begin to reconcile the tear left in his wake, whereas Sylvain and Felix...well they're just like her aren't they?

Soldiers with a different duty leashed to their ankles, reminding them back.

The three of them leave on the same day. Dimitri sees them off at the gates, looking very much like he wants to follow.

"You'll come back." He says. And it is not a demand from a king or a request from a friend, it is just a simple truth.

"Yes." She says, even though a statement needs no promises, "As soon as I am able."

Dimitri lingers, a heavy silence falls upon them this early autumn morning.

She worries for him. She worries that, even in the afterglow of victory, the something dark that swirls within him will rise up again and cage his heart. She knew she shouldn't have left him the first time. 

She doesn't want to leave him now.

But when he looks at her, a step beyond the shadow of the towering castle gates, his good eye shining, she sees none of the hatred that had terrified her. In its place, she sees- sadness still- yes, but also a hint of the boy he was in his youth, hopeful and kind, with a resolve to do good so strong that it solidified her desire to be his knight so early in her life.

She's always wanted to follow him. It's just a shame she can't. Not in this way at least. 

But Dimitri will be okay. She needs only to glance beyond him to see Dedue, stalwart, standing nearby and think of Ashe to know it to be true.

Still, she will miss him, as much as she has missed him in his five years of absence, as much as she missed him when there were ghosts in his head.

Despite how improper it is, she allows herself a moment to wrap her arms around him.

Dimitri stills for a second and she almost pulls away but then he eases into her arms, brings his own up and holds her gently. 

"Be safe Ingrid."

\--

She had expected to make the long journey home with only the company of her pegasus. Galatea is far south, nowhere near anyone else she really knows, but an hour into her journey, Ingrid hears hooves thundering beneath her, racing after her.

She thinks its bandits at first, and, with her lance drawn, she peers downwards to look for arrows only to find the tops of red and blue heads.

She lands with a soft thud a little bit in front of them and waits for her boys to stop.

"What are you doing here?" She asks when they approach.

Felix and Sylvain were to ride together for a time, stopping in Fraldarius before Sylvain was to head off for Gautier. They were not supposed to head south. It didn't make any sense.

"I thought that was rather obvious." Felix says.

It's illogical, she almost says. It's almost the opposite of obvious.

"We're coming with you!" Sylvain beams when she doesn't respond.

She's about to ask them why, about to tell them to stop being silly and go back, but then her eyes wander over towards Felix and her mind imagines him stalking the halls of his huge empty keep alone and that image seizes her heart so strongly that she can't bear another second of that depressing daydream.

"Try to keep up" she says instead, rearing her steed and lifting off, listening for the sound of horse hooves to accompany the beating of her peagusus' wings.

\--

Galatea cannot offer much to the heir of House Gautier or the yet-to-be-official Duke of Fraldarius. It's one of the unspoken reasons why Sylvain, Felix, and Dimitri, rarely visit. Not that any of them would mind. They've spent the last half year in a ruined monastery and the five before that on the battlefield after all, but her father is a traditional man, as kind as he is, and he is a man honor-bound by his sense of duty. She knows she takes after him. It's why she always comes home.

If he's surprised to see Sylvain and Felix, he hides it well, and quickly arranges for Sylvain and Felix to be shuffled off to their modest guest rooms and whispers to ready one of the few bottles of the expensive wine for dinner.

The boys hesitate, she can see Sylvain shoot her a concerned look, but when she nods, he relents, and he and Felix disappear into the house.

Her father waits.

She feels nervous under his gaze. She has fought hundreds of warriors, felled beasts, and gazed into the eyes of monsters, but with her father, Ingrid can feel nothing but small.

She almost expects him to scold her, although she can think of nothing she did wrong, except perhaps stay away for too long. She remembers the fight they had before he finally relented for her to give her aid and wonders if he is still sore for that.

But then he approaches, holds her close, and she feels her body sink into his.

She doesn't feel small; she feels young, she realizes, and she never really had a chance to be.

"Welcome home." He whispers into her hair.

Ingrid closes her eyes, lets herself be his daughter, and thinks of nothing but his embrace. 

"I've missed you." 

\--

She finds Felix in the yard in the middle of the night, sweating, with a sword in his hand. She recognizes this drill. She's done it herself a thousand times, even though she favors her lance, and she's seen him do it a thousand more.

He notices her immediately, but doesn't stop, instead he continues to move so fluidly one could almost mistake it for a dance if not for the blade in his hand.

It's starting to get cold, she can tell it'll be an early winter. Felix won't be able to stay long. He should leave before the snow falls. He'll want to travel alone, or, as alone as he can be with Sylvain at his side, but she'll try to convince him to bring some troops, at least up until he's out of the region. She knows she won't succeed, but she'll try anyway, maybe she'll get lucky. He's been different lately after all.

Losing a father will do that to you, she supposes.

She hasn't asked him about that yet. He's come with her - followed her really, but he's been even more quiet than he usually is, and no matter how hard she or Sylvain try, he says nothing about his father, about his region, and about how he feels going home, not even his usual remark for his distaste of chivalry.

"Spar with me." He calls out, when he finishes his drill, a dozen or so feet away from her.

Ingrid is in her night clothes, leaning against a balustrade with her arms crossed facing him, it's the middle of the night, and though the yard is spacious, they're close enough to the windows that the clashing of their training weapons will likely wake someone up. It's probably not a good idea.

"Sure." She says anyway.

He tosses her a training sword and trades his blade for one too, as if he had expected her company, and they both ready their starting stances.

It is difficult to maneuver properly in her night clothes and, honestly, Felix was always a better swordsman than her, no matter how hard she tries to keep up. Still, as always, she gives it her all, refusing to believe she will lose even given the likelihood of it. It is not in her nature to do anything but, even when the odds are stacked against her. It is partly why she has trained so hard to be a knight even knowing that her destiny is to be married off, to bear, as Sylvain likes to put it, Crest-babies to care for.

She loses but she puts up a good fight. For tonight, that is enough.

Felix's sword is at her throat, both her hands have smacked into the grass, her nightgown drenched with sweat and the midnight dew. He helps her up.

"You're getting better." He says when she rises.

He's taller than her, she realizes. This is something she had known but not something she had really thought about. She remembers when they were children and how small she used to think of him, standing next to Sylvain and Dimitri and Glenn. She never thought too much of his relation to her.

"I didn't stand a chance." She says, brushing off the stray grass on her night gown.

"That's not true." He tells her, "I'll have bruises in the morning."

"Not as many as I will." She says. She can feel her hand smart from where Felix had smacked the sword right out of it. Her father will likely not be too pleased.

"I had the advantage." He shrugs.

They lull into a silence, Ingrid moves to sit on a nearby garden bench and Felix follows, slumping next to her.

Sometimes, she doesn't really know what to say to Felix. She loves him dearly, knows him well, but sometimes she feels there's a distance between them that she can never broach. He had been so angry and bitter after Glenn for so long and she strove too hard for the opposite once she had finally found a way to move forward, that it had become impossible to talk about it- to talk about Glenn. And now, even all these years later, she barely mentions his name in front of him.

She did not want to do that with Rodrigue. She did not want to leave Felix alone again in his grief. 

"Felix," She tries.

He tenses up next to her as if he knows what she is about to say. She tries to look at his face but he stares down at the ground, elbows resting on his thighs, avoiding her gaze.

"I'm sorry about your father."

She hears him take a slow deep breath, exhaling deeply, but he doesn't leave, doesn't stalk into the house without a word like she almost expects him to, instead he just sits, and, just when she readies herself to the silence of the rest of the night, she hears a faint whisper, almost as if he didn't mean for it to make a sound.

"I don't want to go home."

_I don't want to be alone._

Ingrid is stricken again with the image of Felix stalking the long empty halls of his home with no one at his side, haunted by the memories ingrained into the walls of Fraldarius Keep, and feels her eyes sting. 

She wants to tell him he can stay.

The words are almost out of her mouth, clawing at her throat, but she stops herself simply because it would be a lie.

Felix has a duty to his region, to his house, and to his people even if he doesn't want it. And Ingrid, well, if she told him to damn his duty, then what would that mean for her house? For her father? For herself?

She can't be the one to tell him to run. It would mean nothing. They both know it.

"I'm sorry Felix" They are the only words she can offer. 

He grunts a reply.

Ingrid cannot offer him any more words but at least she can still offer him her company, for as long as the world will allow.

She reaches out to lightly touch his shoulder. He stills for only a moment at her hand before leaning slightly into her touch. 

_You're not alone,_ she hopes to convey, _you'll always have me._

\--

Felix leaves a week later. Sylvain does not go with him.

She's actually pretty mad at him for it. Felix shouldn't be alone. Felix doesn't want to be alone. Even if he won’t say it. So why the hell didn't Sylvain go with him?

It couldn't have been her. She's already home; it would've made no sense for her to escort Felix up north only to trek back down again.

Then again, it doesn't really make a lot of sense to anyone else why they followed her so far south only to trek back up north either.

Still, the fact remains that in order to get to Gautier, one must travel through Fraldarius territory, and while it's true that Sylvain, whenever he leaves, will likely stop in to visit Felix anyway, it doesn't really make sense not to leave with the man.

Not that Ingrid really wants him to leave. She doesn't want either of them to leave but they can't keep delaying reality, no matter how hard she wishes and wants for it.

Her father wants Sylvain to leave. He would never admit it aloud and he would never dare dream of kicking the Gautier heir out, but he had pulled her aside to casually ask how long her friend was planning on staying and has made more than a few mentions of inviting suitors over the second the guest rooms were available again.

It's one of the many reasons she's grateful that he stayed but it also makes her feel massively guilty if that’s the main reason he stuck around. She can handle a few suitors knocking on her doorstep, she's not sure Felix can handle the long lonesome journey home to an empty homestead.

It also doesn’t help that he’s been avoiding being alone with her. And it's not just because he knows she's angry at him. He's been doing it for months, ever since the day he came bumbling into the cathedral talking nonsense. 

The whole situation is baffling to be honest.

But Ingrid hasn’t had a chance to think about it, not when there was a war to be won, not with Felix between them.

But now, as sits idle at home, she finds herself sighing.

“That was quite a sigh,” she hears from behind her, “what’s wrong Ingrid?”

She looks up from where she’s sitting on one of the desk chairs in her father’s rather small study. Sylvain’s face smiles down at her, his hands alight on the back of the chair, framing her shoulders. It’s the first time he’s been this close to her in a long time, the first time he’s approached her without someone else next to him in recent memory. She wonders what changed.

“I’m angry at you.” She admits, twisting her torso to face him, although it comes out a lot less firm than she had intended.

Sylvain’s smile falters for a second, she watches as the grip on the chair tightens a bit before he relaxes again, only slightly less tense, “Yeah…” He says, releasing the chair with one of his hands to rub at the back of his neck, “I figured. What’s new though, am I right?”

Ingrid presses her lip into a thin line.

“Sorry,” Sylvain says, stepping out from behind the chair to lean against the desk next to her, she scoots her chair back to face him more directly. 

“You shouldn’t have left Felix alone.” She tells him.

“I didn’t want to leave you alone.” He says softly and without hesitation.

Ingrid jolts at his words. Her eyes snap up to meet his and there’s a look on his face that she can’t quite decipher and an unfamiliar restless feeling in her gut begins to build that isn’t altogether unpleasant. 

“Sylvain,” She says, “I’m okay.”

She watches his hands, watches as they hold onto the edge of the desk behind him, gripping tight. “Do you…” He starts, and it’s strange because Sylvain never used to hesitate with her, he’s always been so quick and witty, playful and fun. He starts again, “Do you- uh, want me to leave?” 

“What?” She blinks, slightly dumbfounded. Does he think she doesn’t want him around? What-just because she’s angry? She can’t count the amount of times she’s been angry at him but it’s never meant that she didn’t want him around. Hell, when they were younger, he used to do things to infuriate her on purpose and she still trailed after him, cleaning up after his messes. She’ll always want him around, no matter how stupid and careless he pretends to be.

“Well, I mean,” He says, “It kind of sounds like you want me to leave.” 

“I don’t.” She tells him, “It’s just…I’m worried about Felix.”

She watches Sylvain sigh with his whole body, his hands, the ones digging into her father’s desk, relax, and he slumps further down, his legs stretching out as far as they can go while still standing onto the worn rug, he tilts his neck back a slight bit to look at the ceiling, “Yeah,” he breathes, eyes closing,“me too.” 

Ingrid bites the inside of her bottom lip. She wants to push him more, wants to ask him why, if he’s so worried, did he not leave, again. A younger her certainly would have, but Sylvain’s already answered her, it’s just not an answer she really understands. 

She doesn’t really know what to say next. He doesn’t seem to either.

In the silence between them, a sudden thought occurs to her. “Hey, Sylvain?”

“Yeah?” He says, eyes meeting hers.

“Are you okay?” 

Sylvain’s eyebrows raise, as if that was the last thing he expected her to ask. It concerns her a little bit how she hadn’t thought to check in on him until now and how surprised he seems when she finally does. “Uh, yeah,” He ends up saying, “Why? Do I not look okay?”

She considers her answer. Sylvain seems fine, she guesses, but he’s also really good at hiding how he really feels. “No, I mean- you look fine-”

“Oh do I?” He smirks.

Ingrid rolls her eyes, “Sylvain,” she warns.

“Sorry,” He says sheepishly, “couldn’t help it.”

“Anyway,” She continues, as if he hadn’t interrupted, “It’s just, I guess I realized that I never got around to asking you, so I wanted to check in.”

“Well, we haven’t really had a chance have we?” Sylvain says, “To check in, I mean, just between the two of us.”

Because you’ve been avoiding me, she does not say.

“Yeah, I guess with everything that’s going on, we’ve just been busy.”

“Then I guess it’s my turn.” He says, “Are you okay?”

“I already told you I am.”

“Are you sure? Because-” Sylvain’s eyes dart very quickly to the forgotten sheet of parchment lying on the desk, the one her father had laid out for her, a list of names and houses she was to go through. 

“Yeah,” She says very quickly, not letting him finish, “It’s fine Sylvain,”

She ignores the way his face grimaces as she talks, clearly not believing her, and barrels on, “and besides, nothing’s going to happen while you’re still here.”

Sylvain tilts his head slightly, dropping his grimace, looking thoughtful, although his hands have tightened around the desk edges’ again. “Then maybe I should stay for a little while longer.” 

Ingrid opens her mouth to reprimand him, to tell him that he can’t keep stalling but stops when she realizes that Sylvain, like Dimitri, wants to hold onto these moments for a little while longer. That Sylvain wants to stall, the same way that Felix wanted to stall, although perhaps for not as desperate a reason, but couldn’t and Ingrid realizes that she wants that too.

She’s not ready for any of this either.

“Stay then.”

“Alright,” Sylvain says, and he reaches his hand to place it lightly over hers, “I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually originally a ship fic but ended up being a very brief more platonic on-the-surface exploration of the relationship between Ingrid, her childhood friends, loneliness, grief, and duty- almost like snippets of a moment between them that lightly touch upon those elements.
> 
> I might continue to explore this a bit more at a later date, especially since I realized, while writing, that there's so much to play with there and so much I still haven't touched. I'd like to explore her friendship with Dimitri a bit more thoroughly for example, but for now, I leave you with this.
> 
> Thanks for reading! (First fic! Yay?)


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